


Music Box

by sharmanat0r



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharmanat0r/pseuds/sharmanat0r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco finds something odd in the Trost ruins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music Box

**Author's Note:**

> I have had the sads all week. Here I am sharing the sads. I am sorry.

The first time Jean had seen it, he thought it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever seen. It was carved with intricate patterns accented with gold. It had small clawed feet and a lid with some obscure Latin he had never bothered to ask what meant. The inside was filled with red velvet and more gilded designs. The real kicker was the handle on the side that, when cranked, would play a lilting tune that gave Jean cavities just from listening to it. 

"Where the hell did you find this?" Jean asked, quickly giving it back to his friend. 

"I found it in the ruins of a house in Trost. It was the only thing salvageable, really... I have no idea  _what_  it is." He said, looking at the thing all dewy-eyed, as Marco usually did with things that were unique in any way. Jean rolled his eyes.

"Does it just make noise and that's it?" Jean asked. 

"Yeah,  _noise._ " Marco said, laughing at his friend who was now glaring at him. 

"Don't be a jerk." Jean huffed, crossing his arms. 

"Don't take everything so seriously." Marco said with a giggle that caused Jean to reluctantly smile. But just a little bit. He wasn't about to admit that Marco could literally  _always_  make him smile. That kind of information, in Marco's hands, could ruin his whole life.

"Have you shown it to anyone else?" Jean asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Marco looked as if the thought had never occurred to him.

"No... I think it may be valuable. I mean, it had to have been valuable to somebody." Marco said sadly, thinking about the crushed houses and those who used to dwell within them. Marco's pure empathy was something Jean had always loved about him. He had enough of it to make up for Jean's extreme lack. Jean put an arm around Marco's shoulders and stopped them both.

"We'll just have to keep it safe then, huh?" 

\-----------------------------------

At first, Jean was thoroughly annoyed by Marco's new discovery. Whenever they were the only ones in their temporary barracks, he would crack it and just listen with one of his stupidly cute smiles. 

"What the hell is it that you find so intriguing about this stupid box?" Jean asked one day. He had made his way to Marco's bunk, which was just above his own. He was on his back, looking up at Marco. "That song plays in my nightmares now, thank you." Marco set the box aside and thought about it for a moment.

"Sometimes you aren't sure of why you like a thing... It can be annoying to others, but you tend to see only the best in it. There's so much besides the tune and the way it looks. It's just... I don't know." Marco said, his eyes squinted in thought.

"You basically just described me." Jean said, softly punching Marco in the knee. 

"Tch, you wish." Marco said, ruffling Jean's hair in return. His fingers lingered and Jean felt calm. He had never felt unease around Marco. It just wasn't possible. Jean smirked and sat up. His own hands tousled Marco's dark locks. 

"You're such a child!" Marco said, laughter bubbling up. 

"You started it!" Jean retorted, his hands roaming to Marco's sides, causing him to laugh. He stopped immediately and looked horrified. Jean gaped, but soon he was smiling wickedly.

"Marco Bodt, I never knew you were ticklish!" 

"Shut the hell up!" Marco said through laughter as Jean mercilessly tickled his sides.

"And you swear too! I am learning so much about you." Jean said. Marco could not form words anymore. Jean had just realized that he was on top of Marco. He took a moment to take in his flushed cheeks and mussed up hair. And it all seemed so cruel that a boy of sixteen could be that heart-wrenchingly beautiful in such a raw state. Marco finally caught his breath and laughed weakly. 

"Are you five...?" He asked when he finally could speak. Jean was no longer laughing, his heart beating like crazy. "Jean?" Marco asked with a confused look. Jean realized he had been staring. 

"Oh... I was just wondering... If you had to choose between that box and me, which would you choose?" Jean asked, trying to regain his usual "you-definitely-did-not-catch-me-in-the-act-of-giving-a-fuck" look. 

"Why would you even ask that?" Marco asked, sitting up enough to lean on his elbows. "Of course I would pick the box." 

"You're a dick." Jean said, burying his face in Marco's chest. 

"What? At least I can make it shut up." Marco said, shrugging.

"You're lying." Jean said in a muffled voice. 

"You know me, Jean. I cannot tell a lie." Marco stated with fake sincerity. 

"Stop it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Jean said, lifting his head finally. "I'm sorry for acting like I never care. I know that's what you wanted me to admit. I know that now."

"Well... Not exactly. But I guess that is a plus." Marco said, touching Jean's cheek softly. 

"Then... what are you guilt-tripping me into?" Jean asked. 

"What are you babbling about?" Marco asked. "I think you're guilt-tripping yourself, if anything." He added. "Or you're going insane and I'm just a figment of your imagination sent to torture you with boxes of unknown origin-"

"Don't say that! I have enough to worry about, Marco. You might think I'm a heartless asshole, which I probably am. But I'll have you know that I care about a lot of things and most of them revolve around  _you_!" Jean said, forgetting to breathe most of the way. "So there." 

"I am definitely learning a lot about you as well." Marco said, pulling Jean closer to him until their foreheads met.

"If you tell anyone I ever said that, I will kill you." Jean breathed.

"I know you couldn't..." Marco said, pushing up a little to brush his lips against Jean's. Jean tried in vain to be more menacing, but he just melted instead.

Their lips met in an almost desperate manner. Jean wondered how he had ever gone his whole life without Marco's breath in his lungs. 

The kiss was not perfect by most standards, but it didn't matter to either of them. They had never kissed anyone else, so it wasn't like they had much reference. 

Their lips were chapped and their teeth clacked, but they barely noticed. They even laughed for a majority of the time. 

Later, Jean woke up with his face buried into Marco's shoulder. They hadn't changed positions much from before and Jean's leg was numb from being tangled up in Marco's. He softly rolled off of him and noticed that damn music box still sitting near Marco's pillow. He picked it up, but didn't dare open it.

He looked over at Marco and then back to the box.

"I guess you aren't half bad." 

\---------------------------------

"Jean, what is that?" 

The music box was balanced on his knee, closed. He had forgotten all about it. Nothing much seemed to matter anymore.

"It plays a tune or something... I never really liked it." Jean said.

"May I?" Armin asked. Jean handed it to him gingerly. Armin handled it with a gentleness he had only seen in one other human. The memory threatened to split his heart in two. Not that it wasn't already broken.

"It sounds so... melancholy." Armin said, cranking the handle. Jean looked at it, not believing his ears. Indeed, it sounded much different from the last time he had listened to it. It no longer sounded sweet. Something about it now touched the very depths of his being, making him shiver. Was this what it had sounded like along? The music stopped abruptly.

"Jean, what's wrong?" Armin's voice was distant. He touched his cheek and it was wet.  _How long have I been crying?_  The better question was how long he  _had not_ been crying. He shook his head and buried his face in his hands. Armin sat next to him, a hand on his shoulder. He gratefully leaned into him, head on his shoulder. 

"It was Marco's."

 


End file.
